


Hair of the Chernabog

by HelveticaBrown



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, and way too much tequila, the real villain is miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 08:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11940267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelveticaBrown/pseuds/HelveticaBrown
Summary: After a big night of fun, Emma's left with two mysteries. One: why is Regina so pissed at her? And two: how does Regina not have the hangover to end all hangovers?





	Hair of the Chernabog

**Author's Note:**

> In the spirit of finishing things (I finished my Supernova draft... YAY!!!), I dredged up this moldering half-written disaster from where it had been gathering dust in my drafts folder for the last couple of years. It's epically stupid, tonally inconsistent and altogether nonsensical, but it's also the first piece of Swan Queen fic I've posted in almost a year, so whatever.
> 
> Also, bonus points to anyone who picks the two random references to TV shows I inelegantly shoe-horned in.

* * *

 

Emma was awoken by the sound of Henry’s elephantine feet clomping around somewhere above her. In the last few months, he’d seriously shot up, and the shrimpy little kid she’d met a few years ago had been replaced by an awkward, gangly teenager who wasn’t quite at home with how he and his body fit into the world. The result had been a transformation from quiet and stealthy to loud, graceless and occasionally obtrusive. Like right now. He was still the best kid in the world, even if she did kind of want to strangle him so she could keep sleeping.

She cracked an eyelid and winced as the light hit her eyes, quickly closing them and burying her head in the crook of her elbow. Her head was throbbing, and her tongue felt like she’d been licking carpet, and not in a good way. She dimly registered that she was not in her own bed; instead, she was curled up on the sofa in Regina’s living room.

The loud footsteps receded for a moment and she tried to pretend that she wasn’t awake for a little bit longer, in the hopes that her hangover would get bored and move on. That plan was ruined by the resident teenage elephant loudly walking into the room. Emma felt the vibration of each footfall as an ice-pick driving into her skull.

“Mom thought you might need some aspirin.”

Emma groaned. “What I need is to be allowed to die in peace.”

“What you need is to stop lying on my sofa like a decaying corpse.”

She hadn’t noticed Regina coming into the room and for a moment she thought about ignoring her. Eventually, though, she succumbed to the temptation to open an eye, only to find Regina standing, hands on hips, glaring at her.

“Not my fault your cider is deadly,” Emma mumbled. She would have liked to have thought up a slightly more assured comeback, but considering she probably still had more alcohol than blood in her veins at this point, that would have to do.

Regina wrinkled her nose. “You smell like a sack of apples left in the sun too long. Go home and have a shower.”

Emma squinted at Regina uncomprehendingly. Her memories of the previous evening were, admittedly, rather fuzzy at this point. However, from what little she could put together, she was almost certain that Regina had drunk at least as much as she had. And yet, Regina looked far too put together for someone who probably would have drunk the entire crew of the Jolly Roger under the table last night.

“How are you even alive right now?” It seemed particularly unfair that Regina did not seem to be suffering even just a little bit.

“Perhaps, unlike certain people, I actually know my limits,” Regina said, her tone harsh in a way Emma couldn’t remember hearing directed towards her in a long time.

Emma looked beseechingly at Henry in the hopes that she might find at least a little sympathy from someone. He shrugged, as if to say she was on her own, but handed her the aspirin anyway.

She sighed and dragged herself off the sofa, grumbling the whole way.

*****

Emma slid into a booth at Granny’s, one as far away from the windows and any form of light, natural or otherwise, as she could find.

“I’ll have a bacon sandwich with extra bacon and no bread.”

The waitress – Joan according to her name tag – gave her a vapid, slightly puzzled smile. “But that’s not on the menu?”

Emma sighed. She missed Ruby; she would never have questioned the order of a hung-over sheriff. Granny’s had seriously gone downhill since Ruby had left Storybrooke to follow her passion for hydroponics.

Emma peered balefully at Joan over the top of her sunglasses. “Listen. I don’t normally believe in abusing my position, but today…” Emma flashed her badge. “Today I will make an exception. I need bacon and I don’t care if you have to kill one of the three little pigs to get it.”

Joan was still standing beside her table with a vacant look on her face. “But it’s not on the…”

Emma snatched the notepad and pencil from Joan’s hands before she could finish. She didn’t have the patience for this today. She scribbled down her order and thrust the notepad back into Joan’s hands.

“Just give this to Granny. She’ll understand.”

Her order came out quickly; Granny obviously recognised the risk a hungover Sheriff posed to her customers and wait-staff. Stomach safely lined with bacon, Emma decided to get on with the very important job of puzzling out why Regina suddenly seemed angry at her.

It made no sense. As far as she could tell, she and Regina had been getting on like a house on fire last night. She’d even managed to convince Regina to sing karaoke at The Rabbit Hole. That much she definitely knew; Mulan – the traitor – had uploaded the footage on YouTube and shared it on Facebook.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Regina was angry about Emma’s involvement in her public embarrassment. Not that it had been particularly embarrassing; Regina’s singing voice, even after the better part of a bottle of wine was exactly as good as Emma had expected it to be.

Emma shook her head and instantly regretted it. No, the timeline didn’t fit. Mulan’s post had only gone up half an hour ago and Regina had been shirty with her the moment she’d woken up. Emma had long ago learned to rely on gut instinct and in that moment her gut was telling her two things. One, perhaps that much bacon had, in fact, been a bad idea and two, there was a mystery here, a mystery far deeper and more profound than the karaoke machine at The Rabbit Hole only having Kylie Minogue songs.

The day was full of mysteries and there were at least two she was determined to get to the bottom of: why Regina was angry and how she’d managed to beat a hangover that Emma was sadly very much still in the throes of. 

She decided that it was time to put her detective skills to full use. She’d start by canvassing the witnesses to the previous evening, then interviewing friends and family. Finally, she’d turn her attention to the lady in question; she’d learned from bitter experience that Regina was an incredibly slippery customer and that it was best not to confront her until she had a little more evidence in hand.

*****

It was three o’clock and she was still feeling beyond awful. All of her investigations had come to nothing. Even Mulan hadn’t been able to offer anything more, beyond teasing her about hangover and then how desperately smitten she’d seemed with Regina all night. That certainly wasn’t news to Emma; her feelings for Regina had long since overshot friendly and were well on their way to being hopelessly in love. But maybe that was it. Maybe that was what Regina had picked up on.

There was a time when she would have just headed home and gone to sleep rather than facing things and right now, every inch of her aching, hungover body was screaming at her to do just that. But she and Regina had let too many misunderstandings, too many resentments, simmer and burn between them over the years and now, when it had finally felt like they were in a good place, Emma couldn’t stand to leave this one to reduce them to ruins.

“What do you want, Emma?” The faint hope that she’d been imagining Regina’s anger evaporated when Regina answered the door. She stood there, arms folded, and eyes hard in a way Emma couldn’t remember seeing in a long time.   

“I was kind of hoping you could teach me whatever spell you used to get rid of your hangover.” Emma trailed after Regina into the house, wincing as a spear of pain lanced its way through her eye. “I mean, I’m up for just about anything at this point. I’d even consider selling my soul to Rumplestiltskin if that was what it took.”

Regina didn’t say anything, just continued to regard her unsympathetically.

“Also, I was kind of wondering why you seem so pissed at me.”

Regina’s eyebrows shot up at that. “You don’t remember?”

She shook her head.

“Fine.”

Regina waved her hand, shoving a vial of something murky and unappealing at her a moment later. “Drink it,” she said. She pressed her lips together, a picture of irritation, and then added, “And you can keep your soul.”

Emma eyed it suspiciously. “What is it?”

“Hair of the Chernabog. Best hangover cure in all of the Enchanted Forest,” Regina said, her voice still brisk.

Emma hoped that the name was some kind of play on words, although judging by the look of it, the ingredients were probably at least as awful as she imagined. “I guess I did say I’d try anything.”

She pulled a face as the potion hit her tongue. It was oily and faintly rancid-tasting and she was beginning to believe that the cure was far, far worse than the disease. But Regina, standing in front of her looking impeccable, albeit impeccably irritated, was the proof that this vile liquid was actually as miraculous as it was promised to be. She swallowed, trying not to gag, difficult though it was with her already roiling stomach.

She managed to hold it down and within moments she felt clarity return, the insistent pounding of her head fading into a dull ache and then nothing at all. And with that clarity came memories of the previous evening, flooding back in vivid colour.

She replayed the events of the previous evening in her mind, searching for a clue, for anything that might help her understand why Regina was suddenly so cold and distant.

Regina stood watching her, arms folded. “Do you remember?”

She wracked her brains, desperate for an answer, but she kept coming up blank. “Whatever it is, I’m sorry.”

“You can’t apologise for something you don’t even remember,” Regina said, her voice flat.

“What did I do?”

Regina stared at her for long moments, leaving her stewing, before relenting. “It’s not what you did, it’s what you said.”

Emma frowned, still unable to remember. But Regina hadn’t finished. “I told you how grateful I was for your friendship. And you said–”

“– _I don’t want to be your friend.”_ She closed her eyes. And there it was, a fragment of memory, foggy and indistinct, dangling above the precipice of drunken slumber.

She opened her eyes again and Regina’s lips were a hard, angry line, stark and resolute. But her eyes were telling a different story, wounded and uncertain, the muscles at the corners of them twitching, a tiny clue to the turmoil within.

She understood, and now that she did she was unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up.

“I don’t see what’s funny,” Regina snapped. “Never, even when we were enemies, did I think you could be this cruel. I guess I was wrong.”

The raw hurt in Regina’s voice was sobering enough to help her get her laughter under control. There hadn’t been any genuine humour in it; instead, it had been born of a kind of horrified disbelief that a misunderstanding that small could snowball into something so devastating.

“What I said was true, but not quite in the way you understood it to mean.”

Regina stared at her uncomprehendingly and Emma realised that even stone-cold sober she was kind of lousy at this. “What I’m trying to say is that was only half the story. There was more I wanted to say, but apparently I can’t hold my liquor quite as well as I thought I could.”

“That point is hardly in dispute,” Regina said. “Though I still don’t see where the rest of this clumsy excuse for an explanation is going.”

Emma sighed. It seemed like she was making a huge mess of this and she was reminded of the reason she usually didn’t attempt serious confessions without the aid of enough alcohol to sink a battleship. “I’m trying.”

“You are. Very trying indeed.”

Emma snorted. “You can do better than that.”

“I know,” Regina said, her voice soft, and the thought of Regina without a razor-sharp comeback primed on her lips was, to Emma, the saddest thing of all, because that had always been the one comforting constant in their relationship.

She took a deep breath, determined to get everything out this time. She wished she’d rehearsed what she wanted to say, but she’d never been good at making speeches or even writing them.

“There are things you make me feel. Not friendly feelings, more like soft, gooey, ice-cream left in the sun kind of feelings. And there are things I want with you, things that…”

As comprehension began to dawn on Regina’s face, Emma faltered. She hadn’t really thought through what might happen if Regina didn’t have a place in her life for a messy, melty ice-cream puddle like herself. Even still, she steeled herself to continue.

“…there are things that I’ve always hoped, but never really believed were possible. And maybe they’re not. But I guess what I’m saying is _I like you._ ” And then, in a whisper, “Maybe more than like you.”

As Emma finally ran out of steam, there was an ‘ _oh’_ from Regina, barely more than a startled exhalation.

There was a moment when all of Emma’s worst fears were realised, a moment when Regina stood, unspeaking, almost expressionless, as if frozen in time. Emma smiled tightly, and unable to look at Regina any longer, she said, “I’m sorry, Regina. I won’t bother you anymore,” and turned to leave.

“Wait.” Regina’s command rang out clear as a bell and then there was a hand at her shoulder, compelling her to turn around.

She opened her mouth, about to ask what Regina wanted, only to find herself silenced by the press of Regina’s fingers against her lips.

She stood, her heart beating like a dubstep track, as Regina watched her with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No more words,” Regina whispered–a little unnecessarily Emma thought given she was almost certainly incapable of speech at this point–before trailing her fingers down to cup Emma’s jaw. And then there was the press of Regina’s lips, gentle and expressive, against her own and the closest approximation to speech Emma could manage was to moan into Regina’s mouth. And really, Emma thought, words were definitely over-rated when there was _this,_ when there was the sweetness of Regina’s lips and the silk of her hair and the softness of her body pressed against her own.

She lost herself in a place where words, thoughts even, held no power until finally, they both came up for air. Her heart still pounding and her breath coming quick, she felt herself melt at the sight of Regina, eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed.

“You were saying?” Regina breathed. And Emma shook her head, leaned in and kissed her again.


End file.
